Glowing In the Dark
by readingqueen811
Summary: He has come to tell her the truth, or at least attempt to. But he can't. He just can't. Not when he knocks his newly-restored hook against the doorframe of the sheriff's station with a hello, love and stops dead in his tracks when all he can see is Emma. Spoilers for 4x05 and Killian's point of view of the ending scene.


Glowing in the Dark

(title based on a lyric from Taylor Swift's new song: This Love, which worked too perfectly with Captain Swan for me to just outright ignore it, especially in light of the last episode)

He has come to tell her the truth, or at least attempt to. Spending the afternoon with Henry on the boat has reminded him of the last time him and the boy went sailing together. It has reminded him of Zelena's curse on his lips and how well everything had turned out the last time that he hid something this big from Emma. She deserves to know. She deserves better. If he's going to lose her he'd rather do it on his own terms. That would be good form, after all.

But he can't. He just can't. Not when he knocks his newly-restored hook against the doorframe of the sheriff's station with a _hello, love_ and stops dead in his tracks when all he can see is Emma. She gives him a small smile but he tears in her eyes are like tiny jewels in the corners of her eyes and it is evident that she is on the verge of tears. He wonders what could've possibly happened since he last saw her to make her feel this low.

"You seem vexed." He starts, not sure how to proceed, his plans of telling her all about what the Dark One has done. What _he _has done. How much he doesn't deserve her. Because she is alone. Again. And he can't let her be alone, because she's been alone for far too long. He needs to be the steadfast companion he's always been for her, not the pirate that he knows he now actually is. "Look like you could use a drink."

Emma takes the bottle from him, and he smiles, remembering all the times she has turned him down from this. The most recent being the last time that she thought she'd lose him. _Once you've found out what I've done, that worry will dissipate quickly._ He thinks to himself, but he can't help but comfort her, because it's not about him right now. It's about _her_, and, in all her gloriousness, she needs this right now. She needs someone to be there for her, and if it's him, well that's just as well.

"That's putting it lightly." She responds. He wants to know what's wrong, he wants to _help_ her, but he knows all too well that pushing her won't do anything. If she's going to lower her walls, it needs to be her decision, not his.

She takes a swig.

He nods at the box on her desk. "What's that."

"What's left of my childhood." She whispers as she gives the flask back to him. Once again, he wonders what could've happened since he last saw her to make her turn to her past, which, from what she has revealed to him, was extremely painful, for comfort. He remembers his childhood; full of sea breezes and crowded docks and the smell of salt and fish, and tag with the other children in the area as they raced through the streets. How could anyone fit all of that in a box? How could anyone bottle up their childhood like it was a potion or a drink?

"May I have the honor?" He doesn't want to push her, but she's obviously going to open the box sometime tonight, and possibly, if he's lucky, she'll be willing to share some of her past with him. He still doesn't fully understand this world, and maybe here, putting one's past inside a cardboard box was more possible than in Neverland or the Enchanted Forest.

She opens the box, pulling out a smaller, thinner box and gives it to him. There is more left in the larger box, but she seems to want him to look through this smaller box, so he does so, grateful that she's opening up to him, and letting him in. He allows himself to look back up at her. The tears from before are still lurking in her green eyes and he feels the need to say something. To make sure that she knows he's here for her more than he is here to learn about her past.

"Are you okay?"

"I think so."

He opens the smaller box and smiles, looking at her and pulling out a pair of glasses. He hadn't known that she needed glasses, but just knowing that one little thing about her that he hadn't known before… Well, it's times like these that he doesn't regret giving up the Jolly Roger for even a second. She gives him another small smile that it doesn't really look like she means, but it fills his stomach with a warmth that only she can give him anyways.

He pulls out a ring, with a pale turquoise stone. Suddenly he flashes back to their time together in the Enchanted Forest, what seems like so long ago. Her parents' ring that they had fought so hard to get back. He feels himself holding his breath and he cannot quite figure out why. He's always had an affinity for rings, evident by the amount on his hand, but lately he's found himself drawn to other rings inexplicably…

He breathes again when he comes across a picture of her and Baelfire. He frowns. He knows she probably hadn't realized that the picture was even in there, but that doesn't change the fact that he is still a sensitive subject for both of them. They both look up at each other, blue eyes meeting green, Emma looks even closer to the verge of tears. He puts the picture down.

She takes a deep breath and pulls a blanket from the bigger box, holding it tightly as she looks through what's in the larger box. He can tell that it's a baby blanket, from the careful way that _Emma_ is hand-stitched into the white knit. Her hands caress it softly, and the open-book-thing comes into play again, because it is clear to him that, while this blanket once held bad memories, it now means something precious to her. Perhaps finding her family has made her let go of some of the anger she'd been holding onto over them giving her up.

Emma drops the blanket as she pulls out a device that he is not yet familiar with. She glances over at the television that sits in the sheriff's station, which is quite older than the one at her family's flat, which he is quite familiar with, and then moves past him, around the desk, towards the television.

"Swan?" He asks softly, not really a question, but more a reminder of his presence and that, whatever that device is, he'll be willing to listen to it, or look through it, or use it, or whatever the bloody hell that thing does, with her.

He watches gently, curiously, as she connects the device with the television with a black cord, wondering what they could possibly have to do with each other, and why it would be in a cardboard box that, as she put it, 'contains what is left of her childhood.'

Emma comes back towards the desk, which he has moved around and is now leaning against, and leans against it, beside him. Close enough that he can feel her shaky breath. She's coming to him for comfort again and he can't help but think that he doesn't deserve it, but he has proved himself to be the one person who would always be there for her. Why wouldn't she turn to him? "I haven't watched this since we recorded it, but something's happened today that made me think about the past."

"Collective today, are we?" He asks, an attempt at a tease. He worries it might be too much, after all, he doesn't want to lose his Swan before he can explain. So, as an attempt to lighten the blow, he laces his fingers through her, and the place where his hook is, where his other hand _was, _aches with the memory of when he held her hand with both of his. "Hey, show me. I'd love to know more about your beginnings." And he means it, he really does. Emma Swan is a mystery yet to be discovered, and even though her walls are slowly tumbling down, that does not mean that all of her will be immediately revealed .

She smiles slightly and turns on the television using another device that he has come to know as a "remote," which he supposes is because it can work from remote locations. He's never tried to turn on her television from a remote location, though, and he's never bothered to ask, for fear of reminding her that he really does not belong in this world as much as she thinks he does. A video starts to play, lower quality than the kind he's used to, but she's _there_, young and smiling and not quite as broken as she was when he first met her. He smiles, content to be there, with her, feeling her heartbeat through her hands, or maybe it is his. He can't really tell. _You don't deserve to be there, though._ His mind tells him. _You're not worthy of all the attention you're receiving from her._

"Who's that lass?" He asks, in an attempt to drown out the whispers that lurk in the darkest corners of his mind. Emma's voice always somehow brings him clarity, brings him out of the darkness and into the light. _Just not as much into the light as both of you would like._

"Just an old friend." She wraps his arm around her, keeping their hands linked together, and smiles at him again before leaning against his shoulder. The moment is so intimate, really more than any kiss they've ever shared. She is trusting him with her past, and her secrets, and her past friendships, and they're connected in so many places. Their hands. Her head on his shoulder. Their feet touching in a way that sends his heart into overdrive. It's not the first time that he's appreciated the way their hands feel together, but it's the first time he's ever really understood the sentimentality that comes when you lace your fingers with another.

Then the scene on the television changes. He is used to this by now, although he had been shocked and delighted the first time it had happened, but Emma tenses up, and he does too, because something is ruining this moment. Something is not right. They both look up and stare at the new scene in front of them.

"Where's that?"

Her voice is soft and hurt. "I-I don't really remember. Maybe my next foster home?"

"Blocked it out? Unpleasant time?"

"I guess."

A boy is talking into the screen, causing younger Emma quite a fair amount of distress, seeing as she does not seem to want him to have the device. "Who's that? Another friend?" He can feel his protective nature surging around him, and he nearly winces at the memory of how he'd treated Will Scarlett at the restaurant.

"I don't remember any of this." She sounds genuinely worried, but nothing can prepare him, or her, for that matter, for the voice that is about to come ringing through the television, a voice that they've heard before.

_Give it back, Kevin: The camera is Emma's._ He can barely believe his ears, or his eyes for that matter. He unlinks their hands and takes his arm from around her, sure that his close proximity to Emma has disrupted his thoughts enough to have him seeing things. But they both lean in to look closer at the television, and he knows, unfortunately, she is seeing the same thing as him.

"Bloody hell. Is that?"

"Yeah…"

The snow queen stares back at them as Emma pauses the television with the remote. Neither of them are quite sure what it is that they should do. She pulls out her phone and presses a few buttons, forming a written-looking message, a skill he has not yet mastered. When she is finished, that is when she really breaks down.

And the diamond tears that have been in the corners of her emerald eyes for too long suddenly start to fall and she leans into him again, and he embraces her, despite the fact that the voices in his head are telling him that he is not this person, should not be this person, should not be worthy of this honor. He ignores them.

"I'm so lost, Killian." She whispers, and his name sounds like a promise that he knows he cannot keep. He takes one hand from around her and uses it to lift her face up so he can look into her deep green eyes again.

"You'll figure it out, love; you always do." She leans in, and he can feel her breath on his face and he knows he doesn't deserve it, knows he's just a deceiving pirate and that he'll only hurt her, and he's been avoiding her kiss ever since his encounter with the Crocodile. But he takes it now, and lets it be gentle and slow and comforting and nothing like the last kiss they'd shared. He lets her find solace with him, and does nothing but keep one arm around her and one hand playing with her hair, because this is not meant to be any more intimate than it already is.

He will tell her later. He will tell her when she's back on her feet, so she won't crumble at the knowledge that her brace is not quite as sturdy and reliable as she thought. He _will_ tell her. He _will_ find a way back from this. He _will_ find a way back to her. He always has.


End file.
